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What can be said about the events in Charleston, SC last week? Words cannot explain it, change it, fix it or prevent it from happening again. Words in themselves are useless. Even a parrot can talk.

At a memorial service here on Friday, the minister Brent La Prince Edwards– who grew up in the Emanuel AME Church in Charleston– described the meaningful, vital lives of each victim. He knew them. Personally. And somehow he managed to deliver a positive, uplifting eulogy. Reminding us that the balance can shift–that “it’s our turn now.” To step into the world we envision. To see that it does happen.

I suppose that’s possible. I’m just not sure.

But this morning I opened the seed pod of the false indigo. Babtista. I counted–9 seeds and a lot of sweet nectar.

There are no words. But there are seeds. Yes, there are seeds.

Like this:

There’s a stirring that starts this time of year. It’s predictable and welcome. The urge to get ready for . . . . Some thing. Planting. Discovery. Creating. Growing. It’s a stirring connected with a visceral need for action. And except for vegetable/garden plans, everything else that arises during this stirring season is generally totally UN scripted. This year the un known becomes a need to organize. To make room for…to utilize space more…to work better with what is, rather than wishing for something else. In this case, a bigger studio. What I have is tiny– barely 8 x 10. And there’s so much Stuff. Right now it’s all over this tiny house. Or it was. Now it’s moving back to its own room and by this evening, when the additional shelves arrive, the table will be totally clear. A blank palette. Space. After storing cloth in plastic bins stacked ceiling-high, it became clear that shelving would be better. More efficient. Would allow the cloth to be seen. And so the first unit of shelving went in quickly and easily and I’m loving the floor space it opened up. This evening UPS should be delivering two more smaller units. To house the supplies that are now stacked on my work table. Tomorrow morning I think I’ll feel like this–coming out of a long winter’s hibernation:

Emerging

And it doesn’t escape me that I actually have More space than many. And it doesn’t escape me that Space is precious and valuable–to be honored and nurtured. Moving into the smaller footprint. Embracing less.